My Story
by Charcharchar
Summary: DracoxHarry. AU after Deathly Hallows. Reupload plus new chapters. It was only in losing him that I knew what it was to break. Hadn't he done enough for his freedom? Why couldn't they just let him be?
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: **All of these characters belong to JK Rowling, along with Hogwarts and any other things that may come up. She's a genius who created a magical world I couldn't resist playing with.

**Rating: **T for next chapter, and it's explained there. Don't worry.

**AN: **Oh yes, and by the way, in case you didn't read the summary, although you probably won't realize in this intro, you're probably going to encounter some pronouns sooner of later that confuse you. This is a SLASH! If you dislike this type of writing, or you're afraid it will come eat you while you are sleeping or whatever, please stop reading. I will not resent you for your own personal beliefs, although I will if you rant about them all over my reviews page. Then again, I wasn't sure if slash was going to be my thing when I first started reading fanfiction- but I've found some really amazing writers through reading it- why not try it out? You might be pleasantly surprised.

I also have another story called "The Curse"- DracoxOC (nonslash) so you can always check that one out!

Well, better get started on this story then…

Everyone always thinks that their story is the most special, and I suppose, to some extent, this is true- for there is certainly no other story of which they can recall the details so intimately or so eloquently clarify that true rush of ecstasy when a person realizes that they have found that one true companion of their soul- the one person that was made to complete them.

These stories are special, in their own way- each with its own beginning middle and end, each with its own obstacle or struggle to overcome, and each with its own final redemption of some sort- whether it be that so strived for happy ending, or whether the pain of separation is quelled by that one true escape- death.

These are the stories of everyday people- the tales that tug at our heartstrings- that unite us under the promise that no matter who we are, or where we came from, or what we have done, the one thing that is promised to all humankind is that one day we will find the greatest happiness that can ever be attained in life.

That is a promise that we, as people, acknowledge and dedicate our lives to fulfilling. It is something we grow to expect, and to take for granted- despite the fact that it is the greatest sensation we will possibly ever experience.

Perhaps it is that sense that love is the one thing that does not discriminate- we are all eligible for it, we will all experience it, we will all learn from it and therefore we place emphasis on it, we idolize and glorify it. It is the single greatest happiness we will all experience.

Personally, I have always fascinated myself with ideas of love. Love of course is seen as the ultimate- the paragon of existence, yet we hear the term used so loosely. We all have love, we all want love- there comes a point when we begin to ask ourselves- why is it so special if we can all experience it? For true romance and born romantics seem such a rarity these days and people 'fall in love' in the strangest ways. Where is the legendary love of Paris and Helen of Troy that launched one thousand ships? Where is the love of Patrokles and Achilles that cries out for vengeance against injustice? Where is the love of Romeo and Juliet- a love of purity that opposed all, and forfeited the very sanctity of life itself in order to continue its existence?

Is love really so powerful anymore? Does it really drive people to the ends of the earth for each other? Or is it now just a convenient term that substitutes for fondness whose mere use has the power to demand security and commitment?

How much I would love to beat down my own musings with some well thought out logic or inarguable proof, however the more I see of the world, the more I refuse to be satisfied with it. Suddenly all of these stories matter- stories which, thousands of years ago, were known as no more than the talk of soldiers and peasants. They were given their proper weight- as nothing more than misguided ideals combined with a desire for a purposeful or meaningful life. But those stories of noble love, or strong, everlasting love that would oppose all obstacles and barriers- they are the stories that should be told, that should be known all throughout the earth. But perhaps I go ahead of myself. This is a story yet to be told.

It would seem then, that to tell my own story would be the epitome of hypocrisy- merely another individual seeking some place in the movement of the universe- desperately searching for a glimmer or meaning.

But I know better.

Mine is a story that is more than convenience, that is more than a societal convention- for mine, for ours is a story that was destined to happen, and I know this because we both fought so hard against it.

To write this on paper will possibly be then the only imprint I will leave on this earth, but I write it in the hope that it will allow people to realize that there _is _something more extraordinary to be sought than one of these conventional stories. It is the love that isn't guaranteed, it is the love that may never be found. It is, in itself the greatest risk a person may ever make, but it carries with it the possibility of by far the greatest reward that may ever be found.

My name is Draco Malfoy. This is our story.

**AN: **I feel like such a cynic writing this, but I hope it gives you a sense of where this story will be headed: I haven't edited this as much as I usually would any piece of writing- it's more of a thought dump style piece. Traditionally in essays, you're meant to write your introduction last, although owing to the traditional structure of writing fanfiction obviously this would prove difficult, therefore, my apologies if it's looking a little messy.

Maybe when I finish this whole fic I'll come back and tidy it up a bit.

Also, apologies about the long sentences. My teachers despair, but I'm still convinced that they are entirely necessary, otherwise the short ones will never have any weight! It's logical!

Love char


	2. Chapter One

**AN: **First chapter- read it, then go flame, or review, or whatever.

**Rating: **T for mentions of sex and swearing etc just to be safe. You know the drill.

It wasn't until the end of my sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that my sexuality really ever came into question. Ever since I had set foot in the school I had made myself known as an intimidating, well connected and perhaps somewhat malicious student. My view of the world had long been established- I was the only son of high ranking Death Eater parents, whom, since the disappearance of the Dark Lord had repositioned themselves well in wizard society through large donations to the ministry of magic and associated organizations that assisted in clearing the family name. There was certainly no desire in my mind when I entered the school to have anything to do with those idealistic, free- thinking members of the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor houses. The Dark Lord was not gone, as my father constantly reassured me. My mission at Hogwarts would be to connect myself with as many second generation Death Eaters as possible and ensure that Slytherin house students remained well prepared to support any movement made by the Dark Lord in the years to come.

It wasn't difficult to alienate myself from the rest of the student populace- despite my father's efforts many of the original Order of the Phoenix member's children, and the families of the Dark Lord's victims wanted nothing to do with me, and my persecution of Potter, after he declined my extension of friendship, soon turned the rest against me.

Still, I knew, words were a means to power, and I utilized them as efficiently as possible. Despite my obvious disdain for all students, Slytherins included, I was still surrounded by people. It is a universal truth that despite the means of attaining it, and the owner of such, power is like a magnet. Instant popularity. Even the students in other houses I knew, had some form of respect for me- or perhaps for the statures of my virtual bodyguards: Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle whose constant presence meant that things very rarely did not go my way.

Emotionally I was isolated- I shared little with anybody, as had been my intention, and I had a strong protective system, disguised under the guise of friends. Inevitably my hormones kicked in around the age of fourteen and I struck up a relationship with Pansy Parkinson. The girl embodied a lot that irritated me, however she served her uses, and despite my dislike for her, having a companion was certainly better than being alone. She was desperate and willing to anything for me- I took complete and utter advantage of that, though there was never an ounce of remorse for my actions- the girl was simply stupid, and she would be used for all of her life, I was sure.

In sixth year I grew tired of her childish propositions of love. I knew I saw her as little more than an object of convenience- she had certainly let herself be treated as such- and I ended the relationship. She, of course, professed heartbreak for months, before suddenly turning and falling for Zabini Blaise. How fickle women are.

My availability spread through Slytherin like wildfire and virtually every girl in the years above and down to about three years below virtually threw themselves before me- begging to take Pansy's place. Many of the girls were rather pretty, it was true, and many of them displayed a greater intelligence than Pansy ever had, or would. But of all the girls there was not one who didn't throw herself before me without a needy desperation to be _the _girlfriend of Draco Malfoy, or without a blinding ambition to somehow use me in her own quest for power, or whatever she thought was to be gained. Slowly, I began to realize that there was certainly no way I could ever have a relationship with any one of them.

So I treated them like dirt, and they let me. All I had to do was say the word and they would meet me in a broom cupboard, behind the greenhouses, wherever and whenever was convenient and they would give me free reign over their bodies. Their desperation was repugnant, but I always felt that they weren't getting anything more than what they had asked for.

However the time I spent with them let me ignore the more pressing question on my mind. Despite the pleasures of these girls I knew deeper down that no woman would ever satisfy me. In truth I had begun to read the stories of ancient history- Patrokles and Achilles, Alexander and Hephaestion. At the time it had been considered that the relationship between two men was actually superior- as men were seen as the greater, so was their love. At first I laughed at the concept, but slowly I began to read the passages more, learn more about these men and I came to the realization.

That didn't mean I would ever do anything about it.

I continued in my role of a Slytherin 'Sex God' and the girls continued to throw themselves at me every time I tossed their predecessors aside. Of course, many of the members of the other houses knew of my exploits- to what extent I was uncertain- but to whatever it certainly increased their hatred of me.

Particularly Potter. Oh- so- noble Potter and his girlfriend Ginny Weasley. Of course they hated me. Perhaps it was the way I made myself look at Ginny across the Great Hall. I knew she was attractive- I forced myself to imagine that I was attracted to her. I would smirk at her as she walked in, conscious of the stares all around her, and watch Potter hopelessly trying to stare them all back down. He always faltered when he got to me.

I knew Ginny was frightened of me- in fact I was probably the one person that shut that great big opinionated mouth of hers. I'd come across her alone in corridors on the way to classes a few times and I half- heartedly kept up the pretence of attraction, simply to piss Potter off. But of course I never overstepped the boundaries. Not until the last day of my sixth year at least.

I recall the day vividly, certainly. It was a turning point of my life. Possibly the turning point, although that will be fit for judgement later.

It had been after a Transfiguration class- I always left transfiguration in a bad mood. For one, I was still partnered with Pansy who, knowing enough of my escapades, spent most of the class swooning about how "serious" her relationship with Blaise was. Like I would care, and she knew that, which was probably what annoyed her so much. But for another, we were taught by Professor McGonagall- the one teacher who really possessed an unswayable dislike for me- except for Dumbledore, but that was my father's fault, not my own. I may have acted like a bastard, but I could always turn on the charm when necessary. McGonagall was immune, frustratingly.

I'd stayed behind to clean up the mess I had made, or rather, Pansy had made. She'd been so busy talking about Blaise she'd accidentally made my glass of water, that I was meant to be turning into wine (THE most simple of spells Malfoy! Does your first year ring a bell? How can we revise for NEWT examinations if you cannot even master what an eleven year old has?) explode.

By the time I left the classroom the corridors were deserted, save for one girl leaning casually against the pillar next to the entrance to the classroom. Ginny Weasley.

Something inside of me had snapped that lesson- whether it had been my scolding, my anger at Pansy, or simply a huge amount of frustration over nothing in particular, I didn't know, but at that moment I felt more vindictive than I had ever felt towards that girl, and I wanted to hurt her, her and Potter, as deeply as I could.

So I slid up beside her, leaning against the wall, brushed away the spare strands of hair from my face and threw her the most seductive glance I could summon.

She glared right back at me with an expression of utmost disdain mixed with bravado, however I couldn't help but smirk as she tried to hide her nervousness and glanced furtively around for Harry.

"He's not there Weasley- left as fast as he could at the end of class. Looked like he was trying to avoid something… or someone."

"Shut your face Malfoy."

"Awwww… you don't really mean that do you dear?" I slid up closer beside her, smirking as I felt her body stiffen. She was afraid of me all right. I rolled off the wall and around to face her. She turned her cheek against the stone to avoid looking eye to eye with me. I tilted my head upwards, but kept my eyes on her.

"What's the matter? Are you afraid of me?"

"Ha! You wish Malfoy."

I let myself smirk. It was true- I let myself get such a vindictive pleasure out of intimidating this girl. She grabbed my arms and attempted to push me away. I knew I was stronger though, and I knew she was frightened. The whole scenario was just too simple.

"I thought as much. I'm used to girls prostrating themselves before me, but I thought that you'd have the good sense to wait until we weren't in public view."

Truth to tell I'd expected her to answer back- I'd had more faith in this girl than the rest of them- in my recent study of the female populace of Hogwarts I had come to realize that she may have been one of the scarce few who knew her own mind- but I felt her flinch, and I knew I'd struck more than just a nerve.

I was disappointed. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind, that this wasn't just vindictive teasing. I'd chosen Ginny because I'd hoped, for once, that someone would have the guts to stand up to me and tell me that my behavior wasn't acceptable. I needed someone to recognize me for what I was, what I had become, even if it was in the form of an insult, or a fight with a Gryffindor, let alone a Gryffindor girl. All my life I had had power over people, all my life I had intimidated them. I needed someone who would see me as their equal, someone with the strength to say _something. _All I needed was for someone to _tell_ me: Draco Malfoy, you are a bastard.

The place the answer came from was expected, but my reaction to receiving the answer was not.

Potter had returned, presumably for is girlfriend. I'd pulled away from her, disappointed that my baiting had taken no effect, ready to continue back to the Slytherin common rooms and to take out my frustrations on my most recent acquisition, who would most likely be waiting, ready to bend to my every whim.

As I turned to follow my path however I saw him, visibly shaking, about ten meters down the corridor, fist clenched, his jaw set in a firm, resolved line.

But it was his eyes, his eyes were what really got me. All of the hatred he could summon for me was concentrated into those bright green orbs. I couldn't take my own off them.

"Malfoy…"

His voice was a low rumble, he was breathing heavily through his nose. I barely had time to plunge my hand into my robes before he had me pushed up against the wall, his right hand holding a fistful of robes, his left holding his wand, which was pointed up against my neck.

"You are the lowest scum of the earth" he hissed at me, his green eyes still blazing with fury "You are the lowest of the low. You are sick, you are perverted, you are disgusting. You are a fucking disgrace to the name of humanity."

He ripped me off the wall and threw me to the floor where he kept his wand pointed at me.

"You are never, ever to go near Ginny again. Do you understand?"

It was done. He had done it. He had said what I needed to hear.

I met those green eyes, but I couldn't say anything. The feeling that was welling up in my chest was something that I had never experienced before. I knew what it meant- I could almost feel my heart swelling, a comforting warmth spread throughout my body, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe, but pleasantly, like it was something I wanted- to suffocate to death under Harry Potter's gaze.

Breathing in those shallow gasps of air I forced myself to respond: "I'll never lay a hand on her again Potter. You have my word."

I saw his eyes widen in shock and his facial expression change correspondingly. For a moment, as he stared at me, I thought that he knew what I meant. But it was folly to think such a thing- the next words out of his mouth dripped with loathing:

"The word of a snake means nothing Malfoy."

And then he was gone, down the corridor, arm around Ginny, talking very fast in an undertone. But what he was saying didn't matter, nothing mattered. Not the sound of steps down the corridor as students made their way to the great hall for dinner, nor the coldness of the floor beneath me. I let my head tip back onto the floor and my eyes roam the gothic patterns upon the ceiling above me- drinking in the blissful symmetry of the design.

Everything was beautiful, everything felt beautiful- life had a new perspective. I held out my arms beside me in the very picture of da Vinci's Virtruvian Man as I let my mouth silently form the name: Harry Potter.

**AN:** Just one thing: is Virtruvian Man spelt right? I couldn't remember and couldn't be bothered to check. It may be important, it may not. I have a tendency to accidentally write in symbols/ imagery and create foils and parallels without meaning to. The really bad ones are the ones I tried to do consciously.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters, locations etc. That honor belongs to JK Rowling alone.

In the following weeks I tortured myself constantly with my imaginings. But the dreams were drug- like. Every hit was utter bliss, but the entrance back into cold, empty reality was the lowest of lows. When I spent time with my family, which occurred seldom at most, I tried desperately to force Harry out of my mind- but only under my father's forceful and disapproving gave was I able to do so. When I was alone in the privacy of my room however, I let my imagination roam free. Despite my expectations, these were not the lovestruck imaginings of a tortured adolescent- in fact I scarcely thought of anything physical at all. Perhaps it was that I had come to find so little meaning in physicality, what with my previous relationships, but I often found myself playing imaginary games: imagining that Harry followed me around my home. I invented perspectives for him on the way our household was run. My Harry naturally disliked my father's stern approach to parenting- in fact he regularly made remarks at the dinner table as my father discussed my studies or career prospects, which obviously he couldn't hear, although I had to struggle to keep a straight face. Towards my mother he was indifferent, and my attitude toward her changed correspondingly. I knew that my increase in independence hurt her- but as Harry constantly reminded me- I was never to become my own person with her constant babying. After all, she had adored Pansy.

Harry became my closest friend- although it may sound bizarre to admit it. He was the one person that treated me as an equal. He was never frightened to taunt an aspect of my life if he saw fit, in fact he attacked it with such brutal honesty that a large proportion of the time his ideas were difficult to rebut. By the time my seventh year of Hogwarts rolled around I had almost convinced myself that Harry and I had actually reached some form of mutual understanding- that we actually had some sort of friendship. But even my imaginary Harry had never glimpsed the scope of my true feelings.

Of course, the moment I stepped onto platform 9 and ¾, eager for my first glimpse of the real Harry after the long summer break, but my romantic idealism of the summer was quickly shattered by a reminder of reality. Immediately I was surrounded by the usual crowd: Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise and Pansy, all of whom, as usual, greeted me in the same friendly, yet submissive manner. I acknowledged their presence in my usual cool fashion, yet inside my heart was bursting with the opportunity of seeing Potter again- the boy that was my equal. The boy I was convinced I loved.

Yet, as usual, Potter was nowhere to be found. My fruitless scanning for a glimpse of a familiar red head or the usual fan club of first or second years that accompanied Potter yielded no results. I boarded the train with a slight feeling of heaviness, although my hopes were not quelled entirely. Perhaps I would not get the chance to see Potter before we arrived at Hogwarts, or at least have the chance to catch him alone. However there was still the possibility of catching a quick glimpse of him in his compartment. It would be virtually nothing in the great scheme of things, but even a quick glimpse would provide me with the sustenance I needed.

I still remember sitting in that compartment, surrounded once again by Slytherin sixth and seventh years, all of whom were watching me intently- waiting to hear whatever orders I had to give them, updates on the Dark Lord or my own personal plans for the year and being totally oblivious to all of them. The knowledge that Harry was so close nearby was enough to tempt me into complete distraction, and my thoughts consisted of little else for the first part of the train ride.

Eventually my silence wore thin on the group. Blaise and Pansy disappeared further down the train (no doubt to find a more private compartment of their own) and the room slowly drained of the remaining Slytherins, who presumably left to find more stimulating company. Soon only Crabbe and Goyle remained, but I dismissed them with a flick of my hand, claiming need of rest or privacy. They obliged unquestioningly. It was a relief to be left alone with my thoughts of Harry.

I'd been alone for only half an hour perhaps before there was a disturbance outside and I noticed the plump old witch who pushed the food trolley every year tapping on the window to my compartment, her heavily lipsticked mouth forming the words: 'Anything from the trolley?"

I stood up abruptly and opened the door, pulling a handful of coins from my pocket whilst scanning the array of snacks before me. My high mood of the afternoon still hadn't faded, and I found myself buying far more than I needed, in fact, almost more than I could carry. But happiness and sugar go well together, and I was in the mood to fritter away things as worthless as money.

A sarcastic voice behind me changed the agreeable pattern of my thoughts however:

"Take your time Malfoy. Don't worry, everyone can work their day around you."

I whirled around quickly to find myself staring at the freckled face and red headed head of Ron Weasley- the hair I'd been so eager to glimpse before though was without its benefits, however, he was alone. I scowled and he matched it with a similarly unpleasant expression.

"What are you doing here Weasley? Surely you don't think you can actually afford any of this food? The total contents of your pocket wouldn't buy half a liquorice wand."

Ron's ears went pink. Historically Ron had always been the easiest of the trio to tease- he had a tendency to lose it after the first insult and even when he attempted to keep himself calm in a confrontational situation his skin often gave him away. He could go to the same colour of his hair and back again in well under ten seconds.

I snorted: "I thought as much- you've come to gaze longingly. Let me step aside Weasley. I wouldn't dream of denying you the pleasure."

Ron looked too angry to reply, but before I could turn back into my compartment there was another voice behind him:

"Only you, Draco Malfoy, could act like a gentleman and still manage to insult somebody."

Of course: Granger, Ron's girlfriend. The total opposite of Ron, surely. I often wondered, despite my dislike for the pair in general, what she saw in him. After her involvement with an international quidditch player it had seemed only logical that she would have continued on her high flying dating streak. Somehow, however, she had managed to secure for herself one of the more idiotic members of our year.

Perhaps I was too harsh, but my dislike of Ron had been founded ever since Harry declined my hand of friendship in our first year. He later went on to become best friends with Ron, in whom I never saw any features which so spectacularly outweighed my own. Even that day in the train however, I could perhaps have readily admitted that my dislike of him had intensified completely out of jealousy that it was he who was in reality Harry's best friend, and not myself.

I allowed myself a smirk as I turned to Hermione:

"And only you, Miss Granger, would have to jump to her boyfriend's defense. He is certainly perhaps the only boy in the school that needs the protection of his girlfriend. But, of course, I forget that your sister Ron has to protect Harry as well? In case he collapses again from having a scar spasm?"

To badmouth Harry was something I found excessively difficult, but keeping a clear head, and perhaps overanalyzing the situation, I knew that there is no way the old Draco Malfoy would ever have let such an easy insult slide. For now I would have to assume that these two could see any irregularities in my behavior that I could, and adjust it accordingly.

But Ron's words slipped out before he could stop himself: "But they broke up!"

Hermione shot him a patronizing look. I myself had to concentrate on preventing the feeling of my heart swelling in my chest from showing on my face- though I felt the corners of my mouth twitch, aching to smile at the mere mention of Harry, let alone the fact that he was single.

Ron clearly mistook my expression as a smirk, however. He rounded right back on me:

"What's it to you Malfoy? Just jealous you can't get a girlfriend of your own?"

The next one was a real smirk- Ron really did make it too easy. Luckily for me, one of last year's conquests was making her way up the train corridor. As she passed I casually slid my arm round her waist and pulled her close to me. She giggled and glowed like the setting sun- I could scarcely believe that any girl could be so stupid. Keeping my eyes on Ron's reddening face however I leaned over and kissed her delicately on the cheek.

"As if I'd want anything to do with that buck toothed Mudblood, Weasley. You can have her. That is, of course, if she can stomach it."

My new addition laughed heartily and I deliberately wrinkled my nose as Hermione forcibly restrained Ron from pouncing on me.

"Thanks Granger. I don't want that sort of filth on my robes- even if it deems to call itself 'pure blood'."

"Shut your face Malfoy!"

Ron's face had become redder than his hair. I suppressed laughter as I watched him struggle fruitlessly against Hermione's grip of iron.

"Who's going to make me Weasel? You and what army?"

"I will."

There was a strong blow to the side of my head and I was on the floor. The trolley lady had disappeared, in fact I had a strong suspicion she'd gone to alert the driver of the trouble several minutes ago. The girl, who had been partially pulled down with me shrieked shrilly and ran, but not before she had grabbed several handfuls of my sweets. I suppose she struck a blow for Slytherin girls everywhere- it would be their only victory against me.

Above me was the face I had dreamed about constantly throughout the summer: those beautiful green eyes, that firm, decided jawbone, that same precious scar… But upon it was the not the expression I had pictured. Harry Potter was looking at me with as much hatred as ever before- every ounce of contempt he could muster was shooting at me through those eyes. Harry was there, but my Harry wasn't.

Then he'd thrown himself on top of me, his fists coming at me from all angles. I managed to block most of the attacks, refusing to throw any punches of my own, but one of his blows collided viciously with my nose, and another found its way to my right eye. The pain was horrendous, and I certainly cried out as Potter's fists collided with my face- but it was not the physical pain that I felt most deeply. All at once, all of my high hopes of the summer were crushed with one blow of Harry's fist and the warmth inside of me dissolved. I felt empty and worthless. I let him hit me.

He only took a few moments to realize I had stopped fighting. Always the gentleman he refused to hurt me once defenseless, though I could see it in his eyes- he still wanted to. He didn't know that he'd already hurt me in the worst way possible. Still kneeling over me he looked interestedly at my expressionless face, but I screwed my eyelids shut and pressed my cheek against the ground. There was no way I would let him see the hurt in my eyes.

Then Ron and Hermione were beside him, pulling him up from underneath his arms and dragging him back along the corridor. I heard flashes of conversation:

"There's gonna be hell to pay…Madam Pomfrey will need a look at him… and Harry too… Why would she need to look at Harry… didn't even get a hit in…Ronald!… just saying…" and so on. I didn't hear Harry say anything. Clearly he was as stunned as I was.

With great difficulty I pushed myself off the rumbling floor of the train and stumbled towards my open compartment. For a few moments I had the bliss of privacy to groan slightly as I touched my broken nose before I saw a worried face appear at the window. It wasn't a Slytherin as I had expected, but Hermione Granger. I crossed the small space, clutching my bleeding nose and wrenched open the sliding door:

"What do you want now, Mudblood?"

She kept her face entirely expressionless. I had to give her that.

"Professor Snape is to meet you and Harry once you arrive at Hogwarts. He needs to give you the details of your punishment."

She turned to leave:

"You loved that, didn't you Granger? Watching your dear Harry beating the stuffing out of a guy who wouldn't even fight back. I see what all the brave and noble crap is about now- he's such a _hero_."

She turned back to me, anger etched into every line on her face:

"You deserved what you got Malfoy, plus more, and everyone knows it. You're pathetic if you think playing the victim will earn you any points. Everybody hates you and it's entirely…"

I didn't listen to the rest of her high and mighty ranting, slamming the sliding door shut in her face. Shooting her one last smirk I wrenched the small canvas sheet that hung above the window downwards, at last gaining some privacy.

It was only then, when I was sure I was alone that I let myself breathe. My throat muscles clenched, and I allowed the tears to fall, although I made sure my head was deliberately facing the window, still clutching my poor shattered nose.

**AN: **_Heart wrenching isn't it? I don't intend to update particularly speedily with these story- I need time to mull over it afterwards etc. Flames (yes, I'm letting you!) and reviews much appreciated. Also, if you're a grammar person- feel free to correct. I see grammatical mistakes everywhere, except in my own writing. They must all have little invisibility cloaks or something._

Thanks to my first two reviewers Akira- Sama and CrystalRaven01. I'm glad you liked it and I hope the story continues to meet your expectations. Snaps for both of you. 

Char


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Harry Potter, any of the other characters or locations. They all belong to JK Rowling in her infinite glory._

**AN: **_Mentions of tangent and primary universes, are all references to the film: "Donnie Darko" and the time travel ideas within it. They aren't mine. I'm not that smart. It's a good film; you really should see it._

My seventh year entrance to Hogwarts was hardly glorified or dignified. I waited until the train was almost empty before shuffling from my carriage and down the abandoned corridors, a bloodstained handkerchief pressed to my nose and several strands of my usually pristine hair swaying irritatingly in front of my eyes. Then again, why did appearance matter? I felt like my heart was breaking anyway.

I managed to grab a spare carriage, and slam the door shut before the crowd of following second years tried to grab a seat, and it slowly began to trundle off towards the castle. I angrily used my free hand to wipe my puffy eyes, although the itchy material of the cloak only succeeded in causing them to swell further. My frustration got the better of me- as I felt my eyes begin to sting with forthcoming tears I groaned and threw my head back against the carriage with much more force than intended. It only succeeded in deepening my self pity.

Of course I'd been a fool to let my imagination run away with me. It was barely a year since my own father had been instrumental in the death of Harry's godfather: Sirius Black, and I myself had been a member of Umbridge's Inquisitorial squad- utilizing every spare minute to make Harry's life as difficult and frustrating as possible.

But it wasn't just that was it?

No. My persecution of Harry was secondary to what I represented to him. That drew me to the uncomfortable feeling of my scratchy robes against my branded skin where the Dark Lord had, last summer, imprinted me with his signature. It was a mark of utmost obedience- I had pledged my life to him.

To Harry, I was the closest thing to Voldemort- I was a constant reminder that his parents were dead, that he alone held the fate of the wizarding world in his hands, that he was bringing danger to all of those closest to him. He couldn't live a normal life. He couldn't afford to let himself care too deeply about people only to again experience the gut wrenching pain on loss again and again. His entire life now revolved around one condition- he had to kill Voldemort, or be killed.

I hung my head, feeling a sort of grim satisfaction as I felt the muscles in my neck twinge as the carriage bumped over the uneven ground. It was as if feeling pain was the only way to feel better.

The carriage had drawn to a stop outside the steps of Hogwarts. I opened the door and glanced around quickly to check I had a fairly unseen passage to the staircase. Luckily I was between rushes. The second years behind me were still trundling up the path, and the passengers of the carriage before me had already gone inside. As I turned, however, I saw that I did, in fact, have a welcoming committee at the entrance. Professor Snape stood, arms crossed, tall and imposing, his black robes billowing in the wind, and behind him was Harry, who was taking care to keep his head down and his arms inoffensively at his sides. I hurried up the stairs towards them, at least relieved that Snape, my favorite teacher, would be overseeing our punishment. His grim expression was hardly encouraging though. As I approached he jerked his head towards the left and began to stride up the remaining stairs. I had to hurry to keep up, although I made sure to keep well behind Harry, who had allowed himself only one curious (and contemptuous) glance back at me as we made our way towards Snape's office in the dungeons.

The room had already been prepared for our arrival. Two chairs were set up in front of Snape's desk- Potter took the left, still refusing to look at either Snape of myself, and I took the right- cursing my emotional weakness as I felt my eyes begin to prickle again- it wasn't like me to cry, in fact I don't believe I've ever cried more than five times in my life, including that night with Harry.

Snape himself sat behind his desk and pressed the tips of his long fingertips together, staring at each of us in turn with a cold and unreadable expression on his face. I tried to hide as much of my face as possible behind the hand that was cradling my nose. Snape was aware of even the tiniest of my movements though. His eyes moved to my face where they shifted from my swollen eye, to the bloodstained tissue I held in my hand.

"As soon as we are done here, Mister Malfoy, you are to proceed immediately to the hospital wing to allow Madam Pomfrey to examine your injuries. Now-" he turned to Harry "explain."

Harry stared back at him defiantly, his mouth was firmly shut and his green eyes were blazing again. At least I wasn't the only one Harry hated.

"Well…?"

Snape kept his face expressionless, but his voice was authoritative and impatient. He let his eyes move to my face instead. I felt my cheeks begin to burn as Harry turned his gaze to me also, but I couldn't let myself meet those green eyes again, or I'd be lost in them forever.

So instead, I looked down into my lap, removing the tissue from my nose and said:

"I fell over, sir."

Snape raised his eyebrows slightly, but he didn't correct me.

"And Mister Potter here, he assisted in this feat of clumsiness?"

I kept my eyes cast downward until I at last felt Harry turn his eyes back to Professor Snape. However he refused to speak.

"It… it all happened so quickly sir, I didn't even realize what was happening. Tripped over something on the floor, crushed my nose when I fell."

Snape paused, clearly smug in his observation of the expectant silence: "Strange, for I heard quite another story from the train staff." He let his eyes pass slowly between us again, absorbing every inch of our self- conscious postures and carefully blank faces. "You see, as I had understood it Mister Potter here aided your accident with the help of his fists in an atrocious example of muggle duelling."

I hung my head solemnly, both to avoid Snape and Harry's glances and in embarrassment of being caught out in my shaky lie.

"Would you care to venture a comment Mister Potter on the apparent lack of truthfulness of these Hogwarts staff?"

I stole a glance at Harry from behind the threads of blonde hair that still hung carelessly down over my right eye. He was glaring at Snape with some sort of incredulous contempt- but I knew Snape well enough to know that he was milking every moment.

"No" he responded tersely- a flash of anger rippling through his entire body, despite his attempts to remain collected.

"Very well then. I think it essential that we respond to this sort of behavior in the most efficient way possible. You will both receive detention tomorrow night, and I expect to receive full written apologies from both of you. You may go."

I awkwardly followed Harry out of the door.

Even from behind I could see the line of tension strung across his shoulders, and had he turned to face me I felt sure I could have pictured the concentration of anger in his face. The hatred in those eyes could have seared my soul.

It wasn't only that I felt guilty about what I had said, knowing that my hatred of Weasley still perhaps had some power over my new found feelings for Harry, but I deeply regretted allowing myself the luxury of hope. There was a chance, there is always a chance to make a change but my actions had dissolved such a thing almost into oblivion.

I'd willed myself to imagine a tangent universe where some fluke event had enabled Harry's parents to defend themselves against Voldemort and subdue his uprising. Where the Malfoy name had no such bloody connections. It was a universe where I could converse freely with Harry. Where I had known him so long and understood him so well that had I laid a hand on his shoulder, even in a merely companionable fashion I would have been able to quell that uprising of anger inside of him, and that unstoppable hatred that seemed to radiate from him, its tendrils snaking around my mouth and wrists tauntingly. Daring me to will such a wish into reality.

In our primary universe those tendrils held me in that position. It was unthinkable for me to break out of that mould.

So instead I merely watched as he quickly hurried away from me, glancing somewhat furtively along the corridors, as if being seen in a 10 meter radius of me was, in itself, incriminating.

I knew it was. My character was firmly decided in everybody's eyes except my own, and for the first time in my life I did not relish this concept at all. Sliding in the Malfoy family mould had provided excuses for all aspects of my behavior, which I myself had been less than bothered to correct. Any flaw of my personality was not my own, it was a Malfoy trait that I had been unfortunate enough to inherit. In avoiding the entire scope of such blame I had never had the need, or indeed felt it, to correct myself. And now I was burdened with all the traits I despised. That Harry despised.


	5. Chapter Four

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own any of the characters, locations etc of the Harry Potter series. This is merely a work of fanfiction, in homage to JK Rowling's fantastic creations._

_**AN: **__So I'm experimenting a bit with the timeline. Can't help it. Basically just move all the events of book 7 back until the end of the first term and you'll have it about right._

_Also, next update may not be coming for a long time. Have exams, but may possibly procrastinate._

The next few weeks passed without incident. In the face of such strong rejection most of my normal behavior had resumed, and I no longer felt the need to analyze my words and actions in front of my friends, although at the occasional mention of Harry's name I still had to make a conscious effort to keep my face impeccable.

This became a more frequent occurrence later in the term. It had become a commonly acknowledged fact that when Harry left Hogwarts for the first Holiday break to attend the wedding of Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley at the Burrow he would not be returning. In fact, most students were counting of the days until Harry's departure. The reason he had even chosen to attend Hogwarts for the first term was unclear. Perhaps it was his way of farewelling the environment he had grown to know and love, in the belief that his encounter with the Dark Lord would not allow him to return. Perhaps he was still clinging onto his old routine, anxious to hold on to some vague shred of youth before the quest that would surely corrupt him.

I never knew, but I do recall that as they end of our first term drew closer I, along with the rest of the school began to become increasingly conscious of the weeks, days, hours, even, until Harry would leave the school, presumably forever.

The tense mood I felt every time I thought about this began to become further and further magnified every

time I saw Harry. My feelings of inaction were suffocating, and often in classes I found myself staring aimlessly past Harry himself, instead imagining my confrontation with my imaginary version, in which I tried to explain the depth of my feelings.

Yet try as I might I couldn't shake of the feeling of foreboding I had every time I pictured the situation. Often my imagination did exactly what I wanted. Harry would confess to the same, he would be in my arms, so close I would be able to feel his breath on my neck… Yet there were other times, less frequent, when I let my imagination wander further that I caught a glimpse into events that shook me to my core and made my very skin crawl.

Harry would stand before me, his eyes wide and expressionless, his legs apart in a strong and confident stance, every muscle in his body entirely stationary, except for a small involuntary twitch at his temple.

_I should have told you sooner… I couldn't, I mean, it was wrong of me to keep it from you all this time. I… felt so guilty, Harry. I had to tell you the truth…_

_Harry doesn't speak. His green eyes roam my face, entirely blank._

_Harry? I…_

_He moves suddenly, crossing the small space between us with a few long strides, never once letting his eyes stray from my face._

_Before I even realize what is happening he has scooped me into his arms. I feel so powerless, crippled by something that I've wanted for so long. It makes me shudder involuntarily._

Shush, he whispers into my hair, letting my face nuzzle into his neck. And he kisses the top of my head. So gently. So solemnly.

_Then there is a pressure at the nape of my neck._

_I'm sorry Draco, I'm so sorry._

_My body is weak_

_I'm falling to the floor._

_It was never my choice, Draco._

It was always your choice Harry.

OOooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooooooo

The days until Harry's departure dissolved quickly, and it wasn't long before I found myself perched on a window seat in the library that day, staring aimlessly out over the lake and the Hogwarts grounds, lost in the sheer blankness of my thoughts.

I was aware of Hermione sitting across from me, hastily scribbling on a long stretch of parchment, for what was, I could only assume, the Transfiguration assignment we had been given for the holidays only a few hours ago.

I took little notice of the incessant scratching, instead opting to direct my gaze outwards, trying to ignore the general feeling of encroachment that I had, and the thoughts of the different 'homework' I would concern myself with during our break. My consolation being, that whether or not I myself would be allowed to return from the school holiday would be of little matter. Harry would be long gone when I returned.

There was an overwhelming pressure inside of me to take some sort of action. To do _something. _If I were never to see Harry again, what would I want to tell him now? My vulnerability would be at its lowest point. Whatever I was to say, or do, would only be borne for a few hours before we travelled back down to the Hogwarts express and I would farewell Harry, perhaps forever.

The buzz of conversation behind me jerked me out of my trance.

Harry himself stood over Hermione, watching as she finished off what was now approximately 6 feet of her tiny print.

"I can't ask you to do this Hermione."

"Harry, we have at least two weeks at the Burrow before any decision has to be made. Whatever you decide though, you can't control anything Ron or I will do. We've always been there for you."

"I can't have you putting yourself in danger. It's different this time."

His voice was soft and concerned, but there was a menacing edge to it that Hermione, I gathered, had failed to notice.

"I know that's why you ended it with Ginny, and that was all very noble of you, but Ron and I aren't disposable like that. Whether or not we're with you, they know exactly who we are and what we mean."

"Hermione, no."

"Our preparations are already in place. As long as the family isn't suspicious until the last minute everything will go smoothly."

"Smoothly, Hermione this is Voldemort we're talking about!"

"Don't say the name!" Hermione hissed. "Harry the time for nobility is over. You know perfectly well we can't talk about his now."

She glanced up quickly as she said it, and I didn't have time to retract my gaze. So instead I continued to stare at her blatantly, letting my mouth curve slightly upwards at the corners. At least it implied a lesser form of deception.

Harry had taken the time to glance around furtively before his gaze settled on me.

"I've got to pack."

And he strode quickly out of the room, the pressure with which his feet hit the ground emphasizing the anger that he was too proud to show. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I still felt a glimmer of pride at having got to him. A moment later I was sickened with myself.

But the sight of Harry had stirred some newfound confidence in me and I knew that if there was any time to act it was before I let my logic override the impulse.

Sliding off my seat, I strutted past Hermione with an aloof air, but once I was out of her earshot I let my pace quicken as I hurried through the corridors, keeping an eye out for Harry.

Assuming he was heading to the dormitories, I took the fairly deserted route to Gryffindor tower. I was altogether conscious of how awkward I felt in the decidedly Gryffindor area- even the portraits seemed hostile- glaring down at the unfamiliar white blond head, and the strong, cold Slytherin colours that I wore, proudly emblazoned on my robes.

Where was Harry? I'd hardly given him the chance to get too far ahead, and I'd hoped to meet him in this exact area, just far enough from Gryffindor tower to avoid any unexpected interruptions. The majority of students had already proceeded to the Great Hall for dinner, which I had assumed Harry meant to skip. I paused for a moment, having been lost enough in my thoughts to forget to walk. I started up again hurriedly just as I heard a voice to my right:

"Who are you looking for Malfoy?"

I whirled around in surprise to see Harry, partially concealed in a small alcove behind a statue. Clearly he had been waiting there to ensure I was following him. I remained silent, crossing my arms and leaning heavily on my left leg. Laughing inside, I was posturing for him :

"I said, what are you doing here Malfoy? Why are you following me?"

It wasn't hard to keep up the pretence: "I have the freedom to walk wherever I want in this school Potter, and you have no authority to question my motives."

"Only that I know what you are Malfoy, and I know why you're here"

I gulped. Surely…

"Voldemort wants me alive Malfoy, and I doubt that you'll be able to drag me out of this school without anyone noticing."

"The Dark Lord has other plans for me than your death Potter. You will go to him when you are ready."

Harry's face paled slightly. I glanced down the corridor and took the few steps necessary to reach the alcove, so that I too, was concealed from view by the thoroughfare passing through further down the corridor.

Harry met my eyes, and for a moment I caught myself. What I was looking at was not the blatant hate that I usually saw. There was a glimmer of concern, and… fear.

Harry's voice was more urgent when he spoke again: "Malfoy, listen to me now. You can still save yourself, there are people who can help and protect you if you choose to ask for their aid. You don't have to fear for your life and you don't have to kill and torture people for him. When this war is over there will be those who stood up and those who didn't. It's not too late for you to change sides, you can still fight for what is right. I know you have allegiance to your father and to your family and that in turning away you will be going against everything that you know. But you are disposable to them Malfoy- you're just a casualty. Voldemort doesn't care whether you live or die. Changing sides won't put you at any greater risk. Every moment you are at his mercy and he can force you to choose between your life and others. You don't have to make those choices Malfoy, you don't have to be responsible."

More emotion had leaked into those words than I think he had intended, but there was a pleading look in his eyes. He was holding his breath.

"Why are you telling me this? What is my life to you?"

"What is everyone's life to me? The fact is, that it is I, and I alone that will have to die for Voldemort. Everyday that someone else dies because of him and his death eaters is another failure on my count. It's what is right."

I released my own breath.

"Why do you assume that if you offer me a way out, that I will take it? Why should I trust you? What if I don't want out?"

Harry paused. His eyes were wide and fixed on my own, and everything about his posture was tense. I took another step forward.

"The Dark Lord offers everything I could ask for. The pursuit of power is a natural human instinct…" I smiled "As is this…"

And with that I leaned forward, placing my hand under Harry's chin and tilting his face up toward my own and pressing my lips gently against his.

He was stiff and unresponsive, as I had expected, yet I still couldn't deny the incredible sensation of knowing that I, Draco Malfoy, was kissing Harry Potter. I was sharing with him what few had before. It was wonderful.

Then as quickly as it had begun it was over. He took as few moments to react, but then it was As if lightning had hit him his body suddenly tensed, and he quickly turned his head to the side, his face sliding from my grasp, and stepped away hurriedly, fist clenched at his sides.

"What kind of sick bastard are you Malfoy? What the hell was that?" he spat at me.

I let my breath out slowly, scarcely believing that it was all over.

Fury was emanating from Harry in waves: "Well?"

What I wanted was to tell him the truth. To accept his offer of help- to escape from the mess of a life I had made and reinvent myself for him.

But what I wanted and what I was capable of were two entirely different things.

Letting my voice drip with venom I kept my face immaculate as I responded:

"Goodbye kiss, since I won't be seeing you again. Long live the Dark Lord"

And then I turned on my heel and fled.

_**AN: **__Thanks to Akira-sama, CosmoMontana and lovedbytheangels for your kind reviews. This one is for you._


	6. Chapter Five

**AN: **The characters and settings of this work are the creations of JK Rowling. This is merely a work of fanfiction- intended to pay homage.

This will most likely not be followed up until after exams, which finish in early December. I just wasted a whole bunch of study time as is. Bad Char! slaps hand

Oooooooo000000000000ooooooooooooo0000000000000ooooooooo

I would not see Harry again until his encounter with the Dark Lord. We met in the Room of Requirement, where my once obedient Crabbe and Goyle turned against me. It would be a lie to say that I do not recall that moment immaculately, but I myself have chosen to let it out of my recollections.

I have no pride over how I conducted myself, in fact, even as I left that room, racing to the aid of my fellow death eaters, watching the great wave of grief descend upon Harry, Ron, Hermione and George as they lay hunched over Fred's body, I could feel the bile in my throat at my actions.

I knew above all things that I had placed my life above anything else. In the face of Harry's rejection and his subsequent absence in my life I had let the one thing that made me a good person go. It is, perhaps, unrealistic to ask a man to place something else above his life; I regard it as an element of hypocrisy in the human moral argument. There is of course the life of others, the greater good, the cause- all worthy, but in the face of pain and unmistakeable terror there is little matter other than the primal instinct to survive.

Survival meant therefore, that I would be impassive- my repugnance to the acts I committed could only be uttered in small whispers to the air that were lost over time. I apologised to those I hurt, and I apologised to Harry.

My father and mother were disgraced by their inability to mask their own; my father may have been a murderer, may have been crueller than necessary in his disposal of Aurors, but above all he despised waste of life. All are born with a purpose, he said, although there are those with a greater purpose than others. We were alienated from the Death Eater populace- new powers rose to the aid of the Dark Lord, and those who had fallen from grace were dismissed. I often think that if it had not been for the events of that evening that my family and I would never have lived to see the days beyond terror. We were lost between two worlds, I knew, and whatever Harry had promised, whatever he had tried to do, I knew that I would never be allowed into that world- even though it was my only hope of salvation.

And so I found myself, mere hours after the downfall of the Dark Lord, seated between my father and mother on a small bench in the far corner of the Great Hall, slumped against the cold stone, helplessly surveying the carnage that lay in front of me. There was a mixture of respectful murmuring, and anonymous cries of anguish around the room. My mother was stiff beside me as her eyes watched, unseeing, Molly Weasley, hunched over Fred's bedside, her shoulders shaking with silent tears, as her husband's hand moved in comforting circles around her back, over and over again. His eyes were fixed upwards.

The awkwardness of the situation was completely unbearable. Condescending glances came from every angle- there were one or two bloodstained aurors whose eyes widened upon seeing me, hands tensing around their wands before someone had the sense to drag them away.

My guard was my feeling of defeat, and many students, aurors, parents and so on passed by- a small sense of pity flickering in their eyes before they recalled who I was and what I had done.

My mother, sensing my discomfort, reached out to put her hand on my shoulder, I shook it off angrily.

"I'm going to take a walk."

"Draco, you can't, these people don't know what's happening yet. You won't be safe."

I rounded on her angrily: "These people aren't like US mother."

She withdrew, her eyes wide with hurt and shock, her hand still hovering tentatively in mid air.

I stalked from the room quickly before the guilt at merely reinforcing my own low opinions of myself could catch up with me.

Outside in the corridor I had barely made it 100m before I let myself lean against the wall for support. In the last few hours I had lost hope- for once I had no control in my life, I was at the mercy of those who hated me, and I was all they had left to punish for what lay back in that hall, and for those pitiful limp bodies that were still being brought in, by aurors with stone faces. I faced the wall to shield myself from it.

It has been one thing that I have never been able to explain, but there is so much comfort to be drawn from leaning against a wall in such a way. Never with ones back against it, for that only intensifies a feeling of encroachment. But to face a wall, and turn away from the world is an asylum, and to feel the merciful touch of a barrier from all around is true comfort, almost a loss of responsibility.

I let my fingers run briefly over the gritty texture of the wall, reminding myself that I was still breathing, and that I had not hardened so that I could not feel, even if it was in a literal sense. The problem was that everything around me was laboured- air was too thick, wind was too cold, my body was painfully alert to everything that made me feel alive, but I felt dead, and lost, and worthless, and my mind could not comprehend why then I continued to endure the physical.

And then I heard, and felt the disturbance and the stillness around me; up the corridor Harry Potter had turned a corner, and was walking, slowly and alone, eyes cast downward towards me. His feet were dragging so heavily on the ground it was a wonder he could walk at all. I knew he had disappeared for a few hours after the fall of the Dark Lord, presumably it was his own rite of passage. There had been worried murmurs in the Hall about his whereabouts, but it seemed that only Ron and Hermione had been deemed suitable to search for him.

I shuffled slightly, to make my presence known, without having to speak, and he glanced upward, his eyes too unseeing and empty.

He held in his hands two wands, one of which I did not recognise, and one which I knew so well as the back of my own hand.

The sight of my wand in any other's hands would have been a severe shock to the system, but he sight of it in Harry's hands was not. There was a care with the way he held it that I could not help but warm to, and for a moment there was a flash of my imaginings from which seemed so long ago. But a second glance showed how he held it far away from his body- the awkwardness in its positioning in his hand, how uncomfortable he was seeing its owner.

I retreated against the wall to demonstrate my harmlessness and cast my eyes downward. The hollowness of his eyes was too much to bear- so uncharacteristic, so detrimental.

Harry stared awkwardly for a moment. There was no power in his stance- his shoulders were hunched over, his glasses were slightly askew on his face, several cuts and emerging bruises dotted his face and arms and I could see that the effort he had to put into movement implied some form of injury in his right leg.

A long moment passed. I refused to let my eyes meet his, to dare let myself mark him as an equal- whether it was humility or something darker Harry looked ordinary and exhausted, as so many of those still loitering around the entrance to the Great Hall did.

It was only after a minute or so, when he chose to continue with movement that I spoke:

"I offer my services to you, Harry Potter, in honour of the debt I owe you, and I ask for your forgiveness."

He paused, now ten metres or so further away from me than he had previously been, and slowly turned. I had expected his voice to be weak, like his appearance, but there was life in it, and anger:

"Debt?"

"You… The Fire…. I could have died… You know who I am, and who Goyle is, yet you chose to save me… My life, you saved it Potter."

He murmured one word that I couldn't catch, then shook himself, cleared his throat and met my eyes, which had been darting around the room trying to avoid his own:

"Nothing. You owe me nothing Malfoy."

"You made the choice to let my life continue when I had none! You… you saved me. Why did you do that?"

"You held out your arm for me to pull you onto the broomstick first. Why did you do THAT Malfoy?"

There was a moment's silence as I let my gaze drop to the ground.

There was a weariness in Harry's voice, yet it could not mask the anger that he emanated. I was paralysed by shame, or guilt:

"Why did you think I would save you Malfoy?" He paused, there was strength in his voice now, and energy in the way he stood- he was looking down on me, yet I myself couldn't meet his eye.

"It was that kiss wasn't it? That's why you knew I would save you. You thought that because we kissed that I would save you, didn't you?".

He was exhaling heavily, as if he required as much oxygen as possible for what he said:

"You think that you made some sort of connection by getting to exploit me that way didn't you? It doesn't matter what sort of gesture- however vindictive you intended to be- and you thought that however much I hated you and you hated me you made sure you had yourself a back up plan! Sides aren't a back up plan Malfoy, they never are. The side you choose is who you are and it consumers your every waking moment! You chose a side Malfoy; I chose to save you because that is what our side is about. You may have been on his side, but you don't deserve to die. All this whole thing has amounted to is a fucking waste of life and even to watch yours get wasted is something that I can't handle anymore of because I don't want any more fucking blood on my hands!"

He was shaking visibly now:

"I have sacrificed everything that I am for this world and I will not live in it knowing that I was the same cause of misery as that man that is lying out in front of the fucking forest with people spitting before his feet! So you can choose to judge me by your own fucking moral standards Malfoy, but I did what I did because it was the right thing and maybe one day you can have a purpose! I tried to save you once Malfoy, because that was what you needed. But you couldn't, because you were afraid- but you held out your hand in that room and that was what you asked for. Ron and Hermione didn't understand, no one will. But I would have saved any one of you in that room if you had asked. And you ASKED!"

He slammed his fist against the wall beside me, and followed it with his forehead. Eyes closed, he stood there a moment, his whole body still shaking and his breathing coming out in heavy, rasping gasps. A sound somewhere between a sob and a shout sounded in his throat, and he pushed his fist even harder against the wall as though wishing he could walk through it.

Sensing my gaze on him he rolled his head upwards to my face as I stared piteously down on him, wanting nothing more than to reach out and quell that anger inside of him that he himself could not control. I made an involuntary movement with my hand:

"Goddammit Malfoy! Can't you just go and live your fucking life now?"

Harry was lost- I could see it in his face, in the way he clung to the wall, desperate for an extra leg to lean on, for something else to be burdened with his pain. They had broken him.

_Between the idea_

_And the reality_

_Between the motion_

_And the act_

_Between the conception_

_And the creation_

_Between the emotion_

_And the response_

_Falls the shadow._

**AN: **Italicized words are taken from T.S. Eliot's: "The Hollow Men" V. I believe that the words themselves are taken from another literary work, but the referencing for that will take forever- I am not claiming these words for my own, I just think that they are beautiful.


	7. Chapter Six

_**AN: **__I didn't lie! It just took me ages to recover from exams before I was anywhere near the mood for writing._

I didn't stay long after my encounter with Harry. Taking full advantage of the commotion in the following period after Voldemort's death I was able to slip inconspicuously out of the Hogwarts grounds. There I apparated, a skill I had been forced to acquire quickly during my work for the Dark Lord, to a small road about a kilometre outside Malfoy Manor. The journey was quick, and my single mindedness in reaching the house as quickly as possible meant that I was oblivious to anything else. At that time, as my mother and father were known to be at Hogwarts, the manor was still empty, however I took care to take only the most inconspicuous of items, and nothing that would portray my intended direction.

That meant that my precious books were lost to me, family photographs, whether I had an emotional attachment or not, were to be left behind, and no trace of schoolbooks or any ties to Hogwarts or Harry could be taken. My family knew me well enough to know what I would treasure, and would know the first places to confirm a prolonged absence. I held the intention that some joyful riotous looters would cover up the remaining evidence for me, taking only the bare minimum of clothing- nothing indicating a change or stability of climate, some scraps of food from the evacuated kitchens that usually bustled with house elves and the money that I had kept stashed, away from my parents even, in a small and little used cupboard in the library. It would be enough to get out of the country, but after that I would be on my own.

Shortly before his death Voldemort had gifted my father an invisibility cloak for his own exclusive use in some particularly demanding missions. My father was unaware of my knowledge of it, and I hoped that if he ever discovered it was missing that he would assume it had been taken by a ministry official or auror as some form of evidence. There was also a small storage room in our basement- used to contain the items I had tired of over the years, or my parents had discarded. It also contained heavy evidence of our involvement with the Dark Arts. Tossed carelessly to the side in one corner was a Comet Two Sixty that I had been given as a child, but had soon tired of in favour of a far more advanced version in the Cleansweep series. Once again, I was sure that my parents would be unaware of its absence. I had deliberately broken or 'lost' so many broomsticks during my life I was sure they would not notice if I took it. And if they did, I was certain I had covered my tracks sufficiently elsewhere to prevent their following me.

I intended to travel to France and take temporary sanctuary in a house in Rennes that had once belonged to my grandmother. After her death my father had attempted to let it to a variety of tenants who, even despite their wizarding blood, had only spent a few weeks in the house before fleeing from the angry charms and jinxes that my neurotic grandmother placed in every corner. Clearly, it would seem, she had intended that the house would be passed along the Malfoy line and the Malfoy line alone. I knew that I would have weeks there before the house occurred to anyone as my possible whereabouts.

I don't remember feeling any emotion as I took my last look at Malfoy Manor- it held no special attachment for me, and the only emotion I felt towards my childhood memories was a selfish resentment at how they had sculpted me. I hated myself for running away- cementing the common held view of me; I was little more than a bounder, and I had loyalty to nothing and no one except myself. Still, there was no tug at my heartstrings as I took flight. There was a floo network in a little seaside town only an hours flight away. Provided I could persuade the operator with a small tip I would be able to arrive in Rennes in a few hours, and into a temporary safety. There was only one thing I lost as I left my home, but perhaps, I thought, he was lost to me already. Only that I never had him to begin with.

ooooooo0000000000000000ooooooooo00000000000ooooooooo00000000oooooooo

I spent over a year in France, though I recall little of it. It seemed that my whereabouts were of little matter to the Ministry. I had no communication from them or my mother, and my relatively quiet existence meant that I had little bother from the locals of the area. They assumed, I suppose, much as before that the house was unoccupied. On the few occasions I did venture out I was inconspicuous- dressed in dark colours, and my trademark hair covered by a beanie I had managed to knit myself in the long dull weeks after leaving Hogwarts. In the absence of my wand I spent many an evening learning to operate some of the non magical kitchen appliances that the house elves had originally used. My life was dull and meaningless.

I occupied my time thinking of one thing and one thing alone, that is, my last meeting with Harry the day Voldemort fell. The way he had stood, how heavy he had seemed to find his own body had worried me constantly. My reaction at the time had been that there was some lasting damage from the pressures and fear that Harry had lived with for the past seven years. I knew as well as anyone that Harry had faced his own death, had walked to the forest with the intention of allowing the Dark Lord to murder him without so much as a defensive spell. Harry had been willing to give himself up for a new world that he would never see, and now he was allowed to see it. Was it everything he'd hoped for? Did it really all seem worth it?

And now Harry was living without a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul in his body. Was it possible that he felt like some of him was missing? Even if it was a part of the man that had murdered his parents and so many others that he had cared about- Was it a part of him to which he had grown accustomed, and now there was only a hole where such a force had been?

Certainly over the years it had eaten away at Harry, and I suppose that everyone had presumed that with the fall of the Dark Lord the chance for a normal life was a strange and wonderful possibility. But Harry's drawn features, his defeated stance, the emptiness of his voice when he spoke had me fearing the worst. Without entering the wizarding world I had no hope of knowing what had become of Harry, whether even, he was still alive, whether he was still in the country, what he was doing, what he was thinking…

I caught myself, taking a quick glance around the small French café that I was sitting in as a reminder that I was outside of the house, and therefore had to behave as such. The café was small and fairly intimate, and I'd managed to find a fairly isolated corner, where I had a reasonable amount of freedom to breathe, minus most of the penetrating stares that usually accompanied me.

The last few weeks in particular had been hard, it had been nearly a year since I had left Hogwarts and my eighteenth birthday had passed without any celebration. Christmas had been lonely also and I found it difficult to maintain my routine, I felt as if the days should be marked with something, even if it was indescribable. I'd chosen to leave the house to do precisely that, even if it was several months after the specific dates, it would seem to be better late than never.

"Excusez- moi monsieur?"

I looked up to see a young woman, slightly older than myself by about three or four years looking curiously down at me. She was pretty enough, I had supposed, but in the typical French way I had begun to tire of.

I responded blandly, or perhaps even sulkily, annoyed at the interruption to my solace- despite the fact that I hadn't had much else inside the manor over a month: "Oui, mademoiselle?"

"Excusez- moi" she repeated in her lyrical French tones "C'est stupide, mais j'ai le besoin d'un peu de la monnaie pour utiliser la téléphone" She pointed outside to a muggle payphone on the street.

"Bien sûr" I replied nonchalantly, extracting a few spare muggle coins from my pocket and handing them to her, not even making the effort to meet her eyes as she smiled thankfully at me.

"Merci monsieur, merci!" She flashed me a quick smile and hurried out.

I sighed and returned to the book I was reading- another of my grandmother's collection of which I was thankful for. Being able to read over the history of magic, and the old spells I had mastered back at Hogwarts were comforting, my only remaining connection to the wizarding world I had abandoned. Once again my grandmother's neurotic nature had paid off. As the weather had become slightly warmer I had begun to appreciate spending time outside on park benches slowly reading my way through the volumes. Despite the heavy muggle population I had no problem doing so, as the books had been enchanted so that their magical subject matter was only available to those who were themselves capable of magic. I held little concern therefore, that her eyes had flashed over my open book as she had spoken to me. It would hold little excitement for her, other than a rather longwinded history of Norway and its inhabitants.

I heard the clatter of her heels back across the tiled floor of the café and looked up to see her smiling down at me again, she began to launch into some over enthusiastic thanking routine, I held up my hand to stop her:

"Je suis désolé mademoiselle, mais je comprends seulement… un peu de français, et je parle moins. " I winced at the clumsy way that my words were fitting together. Since that time in France I have often looked back with some feeling of regret that I didn't utilise the time to become fluent in the language, at least then the time wouldn't have been entirely wasted.

"Ah. Mais vous parlez l'anglais?"

I jumped at a familiar word: "Oui. Et toi?"

"Oui, courrament" she checked herself "Yes, fluently. May I… perhaps, take a seat?"

She indicated the spot next to me and I saw her eyes glance casually over the book again. Secretly hoping she didn't have any form of Norwegian heritage I attempted to close it casually.

She gave a chuckle: "Oh no monsieur, no need to hide from me. I can read it as well as you."

She spoke with a lilting accent, putting peculiar emphasis on some of her vowels, but she was clearly as fluent in English as she claimed. I looked at her questioningly, being entirely unwilling to be the first to acknowledge.

She smiled mischievously again and placed herself delicately on the seat opposite me.

"Except the books we were taught from at Beauxbaxtons were different, if I remember. We learned such defensive spells much earlier, so they were given the time to become _parfait_." My blank face must have looked uninviting, but she persisted nonetheless. "I assume you attended Hogwarts?"

I nodded cautiously.

"Well! Indeed then you must know of Harry Potter?"

"Oui, I mean… yes. Yes, I knew of him."

Her face dropped slightly: "Ah, so you were not closely acquainted?"

I struggled not to blush as the memory of my second to last meeting with Harry came to mind:

"No mademoiselle, not at all. We were in different houses, and..." I considered my lie for a moment, I saw no reason not to trust the woman, but I wanted to steer the conversation away from him before my face let on too much "I was several years ahead of him."

"Hm," Clearly I had managed to fool her with my solemn appearance. "It is a shame. I had hoped that during my work for the ministry this year that I would have had the chance to meet him, but… alas…"

I struggled to keep the excitement out of my voice- news from the wizarding world, and of course the welfare of Harry was at my fingertips! So much for acting impassive!

"What work did you do for the Ministry? Was he ever there?"

"I was working for the reconstruction quarter," she answered in slightly bored tones "a lot of he- who- must- not- be- named's supporters were… are still at large. There are those that turn themselves in," she looked interestedly at her fingers as she spoke "and they must be dealt with. Then of course there is the reconstruction of Hogwarts to consider…"

"And Harry?"

"Well I suppose I shouldn't really have hoped that I would get the chance to see him anyway. Apparently he's entirely preoccupied with quidditch now."

Quidditch was running again? What had I missed in my absence?

"You say that Death Eaters have been turning themselves in?"

"_Oui_, most of them were manipulated supporters anyway. The Ministry can't concern themselves with the small fish as of yet. There are still a few dangerous supporters at large and they are our top priority. Mostly their wands are snapped and they have to either live in muggle society or else they have to integrate themselves in our world but live like muggles with no magic. Sometimes you have to feel sorry for them. Mostly they can't stand to be back in the wizarding world and face the repercussions of what they have done. They all leave eventually, but we have to keep track of them to make sure that they don't unite against us or the like."

"So what are you doing back in France if you were working for the Ministry?"

"I got promoted. In the middle of my auror training when He- who- must- not- be- named fell. Now I'm following up known Death Eaters who were missing in action. Most of them have fled the country or such. None of them are particularly dangerous of course but it's in the best interests of the Ministry to know where they are and what they are up to."

She held up her hand to signal the waiter who had been hanging around the area hungrily for some time now.

"Une café s'il vous plait" she said. "And you Draco? Would you like anything?"

I froze in my seat. I should have been more wary from the beginning I realized, that she had approached me, a quiet an elusive stranger in one of the more concealed corners of the café, immersed in a book, to ask for money. I had stayed in the area much longer than I had ever intended, even though from the beginning I had known that my life should have been much more nomadic. I'd been careless about dressing in public lately, and with only making minimal visits to local shops I'd drawn attention with not only my lack of knowledge of the language, but my obliviousness to the way muggles lived and operated.

She smiled at me in a triumphant way that made my blood boil, though I knew it was of my own carelessness that I'd been tracked down.

"How do you know that I'm not armed?" I whispered menacingly, letting my hand casually drift to my back pocket as I said it.

She laughed slightly: "Your wand was handed in by Harry Potter a few months ago Monsieur Malfoy, around about the same time that I detected your presence in this area. I have kept a record of your transactions ever since."

I looked around quickly. It certainly wouldn't be easy to make a run for it. I'd disposed of my broomstick long ago and without a wand I hadn't a hope of getting very far before, presumably, her back up team of aurors were on me.

I glared at her angrily and curled my mouth into a scowl.

"So what's the plan now? You've got a back up team of aurors? Some oblivators on the side in case I cause an incident, and I'm supposed to go quietly?" I sniggered. "You underestimate me mademoiselle."

"I wouldn't be so quick to make threats Draco" she said silkily "You're treading on thin ice with the ministry at them moment, but they are perfectly willing to spare you Azkaban."

"What?" I almost flinched with the impact of what she was saying.

"Your fate perhaps would have been different, except for a testimony provided by Monsieur Ollivander, who I believe was held captive in your manor last year."

I nodded, scarcely able to believe what I was hearing.

"Mr Ollivander maintains that he believed you were merely a tool used by your family, and that the Dark Lord used threats to manipulate and bend you to his will." She smirked slightly: "A bit like a scared puppy dog."

Realising that bravado would make no impact on her I could only sit and listen as she detailed my fate.

"Since your wand has been destroyed, in fact, snapped at the hands of Mr Potter himself and with the story of Monsieur Ollivander we have reason to believe you are of no serious threat to the wizarding community and therefore we have no prerogative to imprison you. I will warn you however that if you touch a wand again we will do exactly that."

She took a small bottle from the inside of her jacket and passed it across the table to me. I took it in my hand, though I was scarcely aware of its weight or shape in my hand. Did this mean…?

"I need you to take that potion Monsieur Malfoy, in front of me, immédiatement. If you do so Monsieur, you will have the ability to re integrate yourself with the wizarding community if you so choose… You do realise what I am offering you?"

There was no doubt in my mind. I immediately uncorked the bottle and drained it.

She smiled at me proudly: "Thank you monsieur, you have been a great help."

Without a backwards glance she stood and strolled out of the café. I watched her as she walked down the street, eventually disappearing into an alleyway further along where I presumed she would apparate back to the Ministry.

I slumped in my chair feeling an overwhelming sense of relief wash over me. There were no words to describe what I felt at that moment, only an undeniable sense of promise. I was no longer ostracized, I was an accepted member of the world I had left. I could go back to them, back to the familiar. Back to Harry.

I grabbed my book off the table and stood quickly. I had an exact direction, and I held only one intention in my mind. Whether or not it had to be from a distance, I would see Harry again and find some way of making him understand the very sincerity of my feelings.

But then the picture of Harry the very last time I had seen him flashed vividly in my mind and I remembered the helpless way he stood, open and vulnerable, and damaged almost beyond repair. What would I find when I returned to Harry? My heart skipped in my chest as I thought of his face and I realised for the first time more than anything that I was afraid beyond measure of what had happened to him when I saw him again.

Last time I had seen him I had been sure that the wizarding world had broken him in some way and that some small part of him had been damaged beyond repair. But now, I heard, he was playing quidditch? How much would Harry have changed? How much less of the man I loved had he become?

_**AN: **__I'm aware that it's a horribly Harry-less chapter, but there's a few plot stages I need to get through before Harry will reappear. With excessive free time now since I am minus exams it wouldn't hurt to get your hopes up for an update, perhaps even within the week!_

_Oh yes, and sorry if my French isn't really that accurate. School is over now so I only have the words whirling around in my head and I seem to lack the capacity to fit them together._


	8. Chapter Seven

_**Disclaimer: **__The characters and locations in this story are all created by JK Rowling (excluding the occasional OC, or in this chapter, elaborations based on characters who were mentioned, but not developed in her works). I am not taking credit for them in any way, nor making money off this venture. This is a work of fanfiction._

**AN: **_An especially long chapter to condense a whole lot of stuff I need to happen in one go. Harry will be reappearing in the next chapter, so don't give up hope :D_

OOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooOOOOOOOO

I wasted little time after our meeting in immediately returning to my grandmother's manor and putting my affairs in order. In the last year I had accumulated little attachment to the few material possessions I had gathered, or those that I had brought from home, which was lucky, as I was certain that there would be an anti burglary charm hidden somewhere around the house and, knowing my grandmother, the results of any attempted theft would wield less than attractive results.

I assembled what little I owned and hurriedly dressed, taking a quick glance at myself in the mirror as I hurried back towards the front door, marvelling that the aurors tailing me had managed to recognise me from my previous appearance at all, or that I had managed to move so freely in muggle society without being noticed. My skin, though always pale, now had an almost translucent appearance, and I looked almost deathly ill, which I suppose, I felt like, in my own way. My hair had lost most of its sheen and darkened to an even more unnatural shade- previously it had bordered on almost white, a family trait that my mother believed descended from some possible veela blood on my father's side. With no veelas married into the family, however, it was rarely discussed, as my relatives all shared a fairly backward view on the various punishments for adultery. Ironic, considering our other fairly low moral standards. Now, however, it hung in greasy strands, so dirty I was coming closer to resembling the bottle blonde I had seen so many muggles sporting lately. My cheekbones protruded unnaturally, to the point where they were the dominant feature of my face and my eyes were sunken and narrowed. When I was younger I had despaired over the dullness of grey eyes, believing that no matter how animated they were, they would appear plain and uninteresting, contrasted with the undeniable attractiveness of my face. Yet know I knew the true meaning of dullness- they were void of intelligence and character- I knew even my usual guarded approach to allowing my emotions to play around them was no match for this; So cold. So remote.

_Good God Harry, what have you done to me?_

I shook myself- there was certainly no way I could return to London in my current state. Everybody would be expecting me to appear this way- gaunt, staring, driven mad with the loss of the Dark Lord, pathetic and broken from months evading capture, immersing myself in the muggle world I so clearly despised. I had to let these people know that I was a force to be reckoned with, even if I didn't feel it. I had to act like I had expected this all along, and that I had prepared for it. It had all been part of my eventual plan. Even if I were honest with myself, I knew that no one would buy such lies.

Retreating back to the bathroom I found myself an ordinary pair of household scissors and took them awkwardly in my hands. Using water from the tap I quickly rinsed my hair out, mentally counting off the days since it had last occurred to me to wash it.

_If only my past self could see what I'm reduced to. _I laughed inwardly, holding the scissors nervously up above my ear, and slowly extending a greasy tendril. Never before had I considered exactly what I would do without magic, how strongly my self preservation was based on it. But here and now I was reduced to desperate measures.

Snip.

One lock fell into the sink, and I surprised myself by laughing out loud, though I quickly suppressed it, all too painfully aware that I sounded like a madman.

The cut took little more than ten minutes, and I avoided looking in the mirror once it was over, instead simply drying my hair as best I could with a towel lying over the bathtub to my right, and proceeding to leave the room.

The trick of course would be avoiding attracting attention on the journey back to London. Minus my broomstick of course, I would have to use the public floo network, located, I knew, in the central area of Rennes. It took me half an hour to reach my destination, mostly hindered by my lack of French vocabulary and my fear of attracting more attention than necessary with, I had now realised, my very distinct new haircut.

The phone booth was empty, as I had expected, in a fairly deserted street in south Rennes. I entered awkwardly and picked up the receiver.

"Bonjour Monsieur. Pouvez vous choisir votre langue s'il vous plait."

"Ang… I mean, English" I stammered stupidly into the phone, mentally relieved that no spell was required to activate my entry.

"_Bonjour_and welcome to the French International Floo Network, Rennes," said an unbearably chirpy voice, in a volume that was just loud enough to make me wince in pain and hold the phone away from my ear. "Please pronounce your destination very slowly and clearly into the receiver."

"London, England."

"Thank you very much sir. Please keep your elbows tucked in at all times and your mouth closed during your trip. Please report to the front desk upon your arrival for an identification and wand check. Thank you for using the Floo Network and have a pleasant day."

I barely had time to inhale, let alone hang up the receiver before I felt the ground disappear from under me, and a wall of green flames roared up above my ears. Suddenly I was experiencing, the luckily not to familiar spinning sensation as I was whirled around viciously, my eyes only catching brief glimpses of various grates, a heavy roaring overpowering my ears. _What a way to travel _I thought sarcastically as my stomach began to churn as I spun.

The next thing I knew I was spat out, unceremoniously onto a cold, grey tiled floor covered from head to toe in soot, coughing rather unattractively.

"Please report to the front desk for an identification and wand check" repeated the voice happily from the grate. "Please return to the front…"

"Oh shut up" I said bitterly, standing slowly, feeling several muscles twinge as I put my weight on them. "Damn public transport."

Around me, several witches and wizards who were obviously far more weathered travellers than myself were making much more graceful entrances into the hall, still standing as they slid out of their grates, arms held out to steady themselves as they slid a few metres before straightening up and brushing the soot off themselves, or performing a quick _scourgify_ on their robes before turning briskly and joining onto the queue that lead to a desk where a bored looking middle aged witch was examining one wizard's wand on a large pair of scales, while two large security trolls leered at him menacingly from both sides. "Grate Number Three- Central London" she said in a nasal voice, manufacturing a red slip from mid air with her wand and holding it out to him, although her eyes were already on the next customer. He then proceeded to a much larger grate than the one I had exited out of, labelled by a massive yellow three over a purple square. There, once again, his slip was checked by an auror guard before he was allowed to leave the building.

I became aware that I was still standing at the entrance to the grate, and a frumpy witch dressed from head to toe in maroon was glaring at me irritably.

"You finished using the grate? Some of us have places to go, you know."

I looked at her blankly for a moment then stepped out of her way hurriedly, shooting her what I assumed was an apologetic look.

She glared straight back at me, and then stuck her nose in the air turning towards the grate: "Bloody foreigners" I heard her mutter snootily before she vanished in a burst of green flame.

A few seconds later I was almost knocked over again by a small seven year old boy as he tumbled out of his grate, marginally more glamorously than I had and landed a good few feet away from the entrance, sprawled on his back with his feet nearly behind his ears. He was quickly followed by a small girl of a similar age who had managed to remain in a vaguely upright position, but as she slid across the tiles, came in contact with her brother and proceeded to fall flat on her face. Seconds later a somewhat disgruntled witch fell out of the fireplace and at my feet, she raised her head quickly and looked across the floor to her two children: "Seraphina! Sebastian! What did I tell you about going through the grate without mummy?! What did I tell you?!"

She scrambled up and raced across to her children, disentangling themselves from the heap.

"Mummy, mummy, I saw a dragon in the Floo!"

"Nonsense Seb, there aren't any dragons in the Floo network.Stop telling stories and help your sister" The woman struggled to straighten her clothes and smooth her hair, but the little boy had pushed his sister away and grabbed her left arm.

"But mummy, I really did see it, really it was there!"

The little girl put her hands on her hips and glared at her brother: "He's making it up mummy, he's just being stupid and inventing imaginary friends because he doesn't have anyone _real_ to play with. And he's too dumb to know that dragons are _dangerous._" I smiled to myself, looking at the way the little girl narrowed her eyes at her brother, clearly concentrating on emulating what she had seen adults do. I took note of the children's robes she was wearing, designed to reflect the latest in adult's fashions and the small jewelled handbag hanging from her shoulder, an exact replica of the one dangling precariously from her mother's shoulder.

"Am not!" squealed the boy indignantly, pulling on his mother's arm to emphasize his point.

"Are too!" she grabbed hold of her mother's free hand and tugging on it. "Muuuummy, tell him he's being stupid!"

"Sebastian! Seraphina! Stop it! Mummy needs to get to the desk now or we're going to be late!"

"But Mummy, she's wrong. I DID see a dragon!" He pulled on her arm again, this time more strongly.

"No… you… DIDN'T!" The little girl pulled and held her arm at its full length this time.

"Yes… I… DID!" The little boy yanked her other arm in the other direction. Clearly he had a skewed idea of his own strength because she overbalanced and stumbled to one side, her bag leaving her shoulder and dropping to the floor- its contents scattering across the hall in all directions.

The little boy dropped her arm immediately- eyes widening as he surveyed his damage: "I'm sorry mummy, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sososososososooso sorry. I didn't really see a dragon, I'm sorry mummy." His bottom lip trembled and he looked at his mother pleadingly "I'm sorry mummy, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…"

She patted his arm distractedly: "It's alright Seb, just calm down sweetheart and help mummy pick up her things."

He nodded quickly and dashed off to a far corner where his mother's lipstick had rolled.

I looked down to see a few of the handbag's contents had landed at my feet. A compact mirror, a small glass bottle of some transparent liquid, a Floo Network directory and… a wand. I stared uselessly at it for a moment, unsure how to react. It would be unbearably rude simply to leave her things lying there and walk away, especially now that she had noticed me and was semi crawling in my direction, grabbing her belongings as she came. Yet if I were to accidentally touch the wand… I believed what the auror had told me, and I had no intention of breaking my promise to her. Freedom had been granted to me and I was in no mood to throw it away so carelessly. I bent down slowly and gathered the other items unhurriedly into my hands. However being so close to a wand, even one that wasn't mine was almost like a new and novel experience. I could feel the energy emanating from it, the stamp of identity there of the witch- the woman alone who could appropriately harness the power that was contained within it, that could used it instinctively, almost without thought, the woman who, as bizarre as it may sound, shared some connection with that inanimate object that no one else would ever have.

As I stared wistfully at it a small manicured hand reached across and took the handle and I found myself looking into the eyes of the witch herself. She smiled gratefully at me and extended her hand for the folder and bottle that I was holding. I passed them to her politely and then extended my own hand to help lift her up off the floor.

She was in her late thirties, with the same sandy blonde hair as her two children and plain hazel eyes. She had the look of a stressed mother- her clothes were slightly mismatched, as though she had little time to choose them that morning, and her hair looked slightly unkempt. Sebastian ran up beside her- holding out the lipstick with a big grin on his face: "Here mummy, I got it."

"Thank you sweetheart" she looked down and ruffled his hair. "And thank you… uh"

"Draco… Malfehhhhrr" I deliberately mumbled the last syllable of my name in the possible case that she might recognise it.

It didn't seem to ring any bells with her: "Nice to meet you Draco. Monique" she held out her hand and I shook it: "Sorry about that, handling two kids, it can get a bit hectic." She smiled at herself in a pitiful sort of way.

The little girl had wandered over to her mother's side, and seeing my still semi outstretched hand she held out her own. "Good afternoon sir. I'm Seraphina Rose McAdams, and this is my brother Sebastian Richard McAdams." She looked across at her mother to check that she was saying the right thing. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

I allowed myself a small smile and shook her extended hand whilst looking across at the mother. "Yes, Seraphina, thank you. That's very good." She looked back at me. "Well, I guess we'd better join the queue now."

"Ah… yes," I said, nodding her on "Yes, I'm sure it'll, uh, get long if we don't watch out for it."

She smiled thankfully at me and started walking to the line. I followed her awkwardly, somewhat unsure if this was polite considering that the conversation was decidedly over. The little boy was looking back at me curiously. I joined the line behind them, and he turned and looked at me again: "Are you a French person Mr Draco?"

"Sebastian, don't be rude. The mother tugged on his arm." Then she looked back at me "I'm sorry, you don't have to talk to him if you don't want to."

I smiled at her: "Oh no really" I said, looking down at the boy "No I'm not. I'm English- I live in London."

"Then why'd you come out of the French grate?"

"Sebastian, don't be silly!" scolded his mother.

I chortled slightly: "Well I've… been on a holiday, to learn some French."

"Really?!" he exclaimed, "Me too! I'm getting really good! Well, not as good as mummy yet, but I'm way better than Seraphina. I can say hello and goodbye and…" he faded off as he racked his brains trying to think of any other misplaced vocabulary "and anyway. We had heaps of fun, which was what mummy wanted anyway. Cos we haven't been much fun since daddy…" His voice fizzled out again as he looked up at his mother.

"Their father was an auror" she explained in slightly hushed tones, "we lost him back in April during the bridge collapses."

I nodded solemnly: "And you've been managing the children… I'm so sorry for you, it must be difficult."

"Well I suppose it is" she said slightly dejectedly. "Having no father has been hardest on Seb here of course, he's cheered up recently though. We just have to accept it and move along as best we can."

I nodded sympathetically, genuinely feeling pity for the woman.

"Although of course," she added, somewhat maliciously "It makes me angry to think of those of HIS type that are still out there roaming free."

I looked at her questioningly: "You mean you- know- who's?"

"Yes. The Ministry is far too busy occupying their time discharging the small offenders. They've allocated so many resources that they barely have time to search for the people that are responsible for my husband. So many of them are still at large."

"Really? I've been away for so long, I was under the impression that everything was being well handled?"

"Well" she said angrily, "that's what they'd like us to think of course. But anyone who's lost someone knows what's really going on. I must have tried to talk to the auror squad a thousand times about it, and they say that they're doing all they can, but really… well, for people like us, it's just not good enough. I suppose that you've…?"

She looked at me questioningly, though it took me time to grasp her actual meaning:

"Oh yes, ah, both my parents. Though they're only missing at the moment. But I suppose… well it's been so long since… I guess there isn't much hope is there?"

Her eyes swelled with pity.

"Don't give up yet dear. We'll get those bastards eventually."

We had reached the front of the line. She nodded to me: "You go through first."

I swallowed, my throat was constricting and it was suddenly particularly dry.

"No really, you go."

"That's sweet dear, but I don't want to hold you up with these two monsters" she looked down at the children who grinned manically up at me.

"Oh… right"

I stepped up to the desk, feeling sweat begin to emerge beneath my collar as I nervously wiped my palms against my leg.

"Hello, Draco Malfoy. For Diagon Alley please."

"I'll need to see your wand please sir" drawled the witch, her eyes lost to something over to the right.

"I… uh… don't have one, m'am."

"Pardon?"

"My wand, I, uh, don't have it."

"You've lost it?" she smirked condescendingly.

"No, it was, uh… taken…. Away…"

Below the table I saw her hand move and knew that she was preparing to press some sort of trigger button. I was unaware of whether it would send an oblivator squad to dispose of a muggle invasion, or whether she knew of my identity and felt that I had presented some sort of threat.

"I'm sorry Miss, I haven't explained myself properly. I'm…" I hated the sound of my own name upon my lips, like I was spitting broken glass at her, paining myself in the process, "Draco Malfoy. My wand has been snapped, and I have permission from the ministry to move around in society."

I tried to say the words as quietly as possible, but there was a sort of hush behind me as the woman's face froze in a position of unexpected shock.

Slowly I turned back around to face Monique, my heart thumping heavily in my chest with dread.

I tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing. I knew that. In some indirect way I'd broken this woman's family. I'd hurt those two innocent, vivacious children in front of me in an irreparable way. There would be a hole in their life where it should have been whole. They'd never get the chance to fight back, never to fix it. There was nothing they could have done, yet it was them that would pay.

"You're….oh…" she stumbled slightly "No…. you're a…. one of _them?"_

"I … please… I would never wish you any harm, and I'm so sorry about your…"

"_Don't you dare mention his name" _she hissed vehemently, "_you stay away… you stay away from us!"_

She stumbled backwards, her eyes wide and frightened, yet there was an undeniable hatred in them, the will to do _something, _to cause me any sort of pain that would come close to reflecting what she was feeling right now; the pain that was causing her hands to shake, her breathing to sharpen, her pupils to dilate and small beads of sweat to slowly make an appearance on her forehead.

And the _eyes _of those children. I thought my own had been empty, but what did I know of loss? I had never loved anyone like they had loved their father, I never would- even my feelings were Harry were nothing but fantasy, based on nothing but an impulse decision, one rush that I had felt for a few seconds back at Hogwarts. It was so shallow to what I was faced with now. That man had been living and breathing in the world. He'd had his own thoughts, his own secrets- an inner monologue that he would on occasion wonder if anyone else shared. He had had anticipations, direction in his life before it was ended. Abruptly it would seem, and he'd fallen out of the pattern of the universe. And where was he now? What had happened to that monologue that had once been inside of him? Suddenly he was no more than another inanimate object- no longer worthy of the respect and care shown to the living human body. Why suddenly was he lost, where had he gone?

And then I saw the line of people extending out behind Monique. Everyone stared at me with pure hatred, a viciousness I could never have imagined Harry's followers could possess. Then, at that very moment, I could have sworn I saw in their eyes what I myself had been contemplating. They wanted to know where I would go if they wiped _me _from existence. Would it be a punishment? For what I had done and what I had assisted in doing?

My breath came out in a quick exhalation, as though I was trying to rid my body of the thoughts inside my head and go back to the naivety of only a few moments before when I'd almost felt in sync with wizarding society again.

I saw a yellow slip waver in front of my eyes.

"Diagon Alley" said the witch, her voice now low and sorrowful. "Move along now then, next please."

A man a few spots behind where I had been made a sudden movement towards me:

"Please keep your place in line!" exclaimed the witch shrilly, "Mr Malfoy is under Ministry protection and he has the right to move through here. Any action against him and I will call security!" Though the carelessness in her voice implied that I would be given a good five minutes to cope with any oncoming attack myself before it occurred to the witch to give the security trolls permission to intervene.

I stumbled awkwardly over the grate with a large number 8 stamped over its entrance.

The guard there waved me on without a word, further adding to the unbearable silence that was closing in on me, encasing my whole being in sensational feelings of guilt and fear. I had never understood how bad it could get.

Then the green flames roared up above my ears again, and the weighty silence was filled with a heavy roar. But for once my mind was blissfully blank, so shocked was I that from my experience moments before. There were no panicked thoughts in my head, for I had realised for one shocking moment that I really had nothing here, nowhere to go, no one to trust. And my mind simply couldn't cope with that possibility. It was a maze with only dead ends, so it shut down.

OooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooo

My re-entry to Diagon Alley was nothing like I had expected. First of all I had expected to return victoriously, alive with the new possibility of living in the wizarding world in a way that I had never done before. I would be redeemed from my past actions by the sympathy of wizarding society and my support in the reconstruction of our world after the Dark Lord fell. Never before had I pictured or imagined myself dragging my feet down the street, head down and shoulders hunched, encasing myself within my own body. I could feel my spend bending underneath the invisible pressure slung haphazardly over my shoulders. It literally overbalanced me and I stumbled, disoriented, down the street.

There were a few curious looks my way as I passed but I was far too reduced to within myself to attract any serious attention, and my much altered appearance was serving as a protective barrier. I was vaguely aware of discovering a bench and letting myself collapse onto it. What really could I do? I couldn't face returning to France- my existence there had been detrimental to my physical and mental health, but to stay in London would be nothing short of entirely foolish. Who would support me? Even if I faced the daunting task of locating my parents, who, really, would want me to find them? Why had I been so inexperienced as to have faith in hope? Hope was for the weak, those hindered by being without a purpose and drive; I knew that, my family knew that- it was almost the motto of the Malfoy line. The strong are those who need only rely on themselves to succeed. Yet I'd done the unthinkable. Why was I here?

Ollivander. Ollivander had done something that embodied everything Harry stood for. He pitied me, he empathized. There was almost some inkling of _understanding_ there. He'd saved me from a fate worse than death- only my alternative was short of life.

Mentally condemning the man who had done what I could never previously have imagined was a streak of selfishness in my personality that even I was surprised at. _People don't just change Malfoy, _I mentally reprimanded myself, _you know it, and so did all those people there. If you want them to trust you, you have to earn it a thousand times over, and then prove it… For God's sake Draco, take a look AROUND!_

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The general appearance of Diagon Alley had changed little since I had last ventured there. Certainly, my visit over a year ago had seen a large proportion of shops closed or boarded up, a few bearing the damages of Death Eater invasions or Auror Protection Squads. Now it was as if the city had regenerated itself, it hummed with life and habitation, exuded the warmth of an area that was alive with use, with purpose. Store windows were still emblazoned with celebratory decorations of the Dark Lord's fall, still bearing the imprint of a renewed freedom in the wizarding world. I couldn't blame them for celebrating, they'd had so little previously. The knowledge that they were still thankful was, I suppose, rewarding; at least, to know that they valued what Harry had done for them. He was still a hero. He was still their saviour. It was something he deserved.

Ollivander's too had changed, for the better. My last visit in my first year had shown me a borderline unpleasant looking store which, even with magical maintenance looked decrepit and disused. Clearly having his life returned to him had agreed with Ollivander and he'd made some changes to the appearance of the store. The peeling paint letters had been replaced with a freshly initialled title, the glass was cleaner and a consumer friendly window display of Ollivander wands in action had been set up, flashing words beside them exclaiming their high quality and potential for use by those as skilled as aurors, magical healers and magical professors.

I entered the shop cautiously hearing the familiar tinkle of a magical bell above my head as it alerted Ollivander of my presence. Thankfully the shop was empty, as the school term had begun two or so months ago, and I suspected that the shop had limited business.

This was confirmed as Ollivander bustled out of his storeroom, rubbing his hands together, muttering to himself: "Now who could that be I wonder…"

He stopped short as he looked up and recognized my face. "Well Merlin… very interesting, Mister Malfoy."

I extended my hand nervously: "I'm glad you're here sir…"

"Oh yesss, I'm sure you are. Are you here for another I wonder…?"

"Another….?"

"Another wand, yesss, yours was snapped. Pity really, fine wand. Eleven inches, mahogany, dragon heartstring, not flexible, but that was always your style…"

He faded off, doing a small circle to look back at the massive shelves towering over him behind the counter.

"Perhaps… it would be different certainly, but these times call for a change…"

"I'm sorry sir, I'm not here for a wand."

"Oh you're here for a wand…." He murmured, "Yes…"

"No really, I mean, mine was snapped. I'm an outcast."

"You're here though, aren't you?"

"Yes, but…. What?" Disregarding the circular conversation I said what I had come to say before I changed my mind, "I came to thank you."

"Oh yes, you did." He looked disinterested, "Of course those sorts of wands are best for aggressive purposes…"

"No really, I came to thank you… I'm not in Azkaban."

"Yes, you're here… of course."

"Er…Yes. I owe you for that."

"Perhaps… " He was rubbing his hands together, still perusing the shelves in front of him. When his voice came again it was quiet and inoffensive "but I suppose I owe you my life Mister Malfoy."

"What? No! No, you don't"

"Well you didn't take it did you?"

"What?"

He chuckled to himself as he stroked one of the boxes in front of him lovingly "What else are you here for Mister Malfoy?"

"I… nothing."

"Oh come, you must need something."

"No, I'm just… going to go now, that's all I had to say…"

"But where?" It was as though he was speaking to the wands around him, "Not many places for a Malfoy from what I hear. Not many places for an ex Death Eater. Not any at all really. An old man's word isn't worth that much these days. Only those few… Dark times…"

"I… well thank you… alright…" I shuffled awkwardly towards the door.

"You know Mister Malfoy, I have somewhere for you to go…"

"What?" I turned around. Could something so improbable really have just fallen into my lap?

"I'm an old man, Mister Malfoy, I need some help around this store." He was shuffling boxes on the shelf now, "You could be the man to help me with that."

I paused. Yes, false hope indeed. "I… can't"

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. I have a Ministry order, not to touch any wands, I'll be straight to Azkaban."

"Who said anything about touching wands? You can touch their boxes?"

"I don't know."

"Well try boy! Go and try!"

I paused for a moment: "Is that really such a good idea?"

"Damn the good idea and do it boy!"

Shocked, I scurried back behind the counter and reached for the nearest box. There was a moment's hesitation as my hand hovered over it. If this didn't work, I was in trouble, and I'd be cursing myself forever for my stupidity. But if it did I would have somewhere to belong, at least for now.

My finger touched the box.

Nothing.

"Ah! Excellent!" exclaimed Ollivander excitedly, "just as I thought. Well Mister Malfoy, you can begin straight away. I want you to begin with the back shelves. Everything needs to be cleaned and reorganized. Shelf labels are on the right, you can begin."

OOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooOOOOOOOOO

My job was to organize the wands into categories on their core, construction material and basic characteristics. Under Ollivander's guidance I learned to identify the core principles of wands merely from glancing at them. As time went on and I ran out of things to do in the storage area Ollivander gradually allowed me more interaction with the customers and I soon began to pick up his quirky manner of muttering wand details as I brought them back, murmuring as I reflected on the reactions of each individual wand as I saw it laying in the customer's hands. For the few that recognized me I learned to ignore the curious glances of recognition, I developed a calm and composed fashion of explaining my escape from incarceration, to ignore the suspicious glares and the alert body language.

Gradually Ollivander gave me freer reign of the business. I began reorganizing once again, this time according to my own principles as opposed to Ollivander's. Those new customers- mostly muggle borns or out of towners would come to the conclusion that I _was_ Ollivander and would enquire about my age- how I had come to own such a thriving business. Eventually all those customers that entered the store were perfectly aware of who I was and why I was there; Ollivander's apprentice, they said, he must be going senile in his old age. Their remarks had little impact on me, nor did their manners. I don't remember any remarkable customers up to that point who stuck in my memory as surprising or special. They were all the same regurgitation of one person- so high and mighty, so condescending, with nothing brilliant or worthy of admiration to recommend them except their complete lack of relation to myself. But at least they had come to accept me being there. I had somewhere to be, at least.

As I said previously, Ollivander usually gave me free reign of the store, though I was always aware of his presence in his upstairs apartment, in which I had a room, and he sometimes came to assist me in somewhat tricky cases. However one day in October he came down the stairs with a small bag slung over his shoulder.

"Draco," he had taken to calling me by my first name very early, although it had always sounded odd to me that he said it with such familiarity, although we scarcely ever spoke to each other, "I've been called away on business for a few days. Some quality investigation to do, the last beech package we had was definitely sub standard."

I nodded knowingly; I'd also spent time in the workshop with Ollivander learning how to make wands. I was allowed as far as the shaping of the wood and handle, but the injection of the core and the animation of the wand itself were restricted to Ollivander himself. I understood what he did and how he worked, but it wasn't just my lack of ability to touch a wand that restricted me from this final step of the process, but also a shred of pride on Ollivander's part. There would be some part of the magic I wasn't allowed to understand. Some part of his genius alone that was injected into those wands.

"I should be back in a few days. I trust you'll take care of the shop in my absence."

I nodded curtly, "Of course."

"I'm expecting some unicorn hair to come in on Tuesday. You remember how to treat it?"

"Yes."

"Hmph," He slipped quietly through the door.

The shop was quiet for a few hours only before a new customer came through. The school rush had been and gone so the store had been relatively empty for the last month or so, and I'd had a chance for a break from the usual jumps at my name, watchful glances as I entered the back room and careful eyes as I held out each wand in its box, always wary if my hand strayed too close to the wand.

I braced myself and looked up as the magical bell tinkled. The girl that entered was probably my age, maybe slightly older with a confidence in her air that exuded a fierce independence and poise. She'd turned her back to carefully shut the door behind her, and out of old habit my eyes quickly glanced over her figure. Fairly petite, but with a defined shape to her hips and chest with long, dark brown curls that cascaded in a frustratingly careless way down her back. As she turned she met my own eyes with her large round ones, framed heavily with long and thick black lashes., which she batted consciously in a somewhat alluring way. Her nose was small and prominent, curving upwards in an almost impish fashion, and her lips were full and curved into a flirtatious smile, exposing her stereotypically even and impossibly white teeth.

"Hi," she extended her hand, I took it in my own and she shook it firmly and confidently, "Evangeline Delacour, I'm here to see Ollivander." Her accent was upper-class, certainly, and the way she spoke certainly reflected her confident air.

"I'm the assistant here," I conceded, still not particularly willing to give my name, particularly as she seemed friendly enough, and I wasn't in the mood to have to close myself off again, "Ollivander is away for a few days, I'm running the store."

"Oh," she smiled encouragingly again, and met my eyes with a cheeky look, "Well perhaps you can help me…"

From her robes (designer and form fitting, I noted. No Madam Malkin's for this one) she extracted to pieces of what I presumed had been her previous wand.

"I'm here to replace this…" She held it out in her hand. I stared at it awkwardly.

"Oak… ten inches… that's not unicorn hair though…"

She nodded, "It's veela hair actually- all of my family have it in our wands. We find it makes for the best relationship between the wand and its master."

She threw me another darting glance, this time a bit more obviously. I turned my back and made my way down the third aisle, towards the middle of the shelf where I'd stocked the Dragon Heartstring wands made with the more exotic woods. They were rarer, and more temperamental certainly, but the girl certainly didn't appear like she was suited to a more docile wand. I returned holding the box in my hands.

"We don't stock Veela hair- it's not particularly easy to come by, and Ollivander has always maintained that there are other, longer lasting cores. Dragon Heartstring, have a try…"

I held the open box out to her and she took the wand in her hands. I watched how it sat in her hand for a moment, awkwardly, with little enthusiasm. Perhaps a little too exotic, the wand was bored with her.

I held the box out, "No no, I think we'll have to try something longer in the arm…"

I retreated back into the aisle, this time returning with a different coloured box. "Pine, and unicorn hair. Ten inches- it's quite springy."

Again I took note of how the wand looked in her hand. I watched the fit as she enclosed her fingers around it. It slid around, even inside her grasp and almost seemed to disappear in her hand. This wand was entirely the opposite- it wouldn't dare do half of the things she intended with it, I was sure.

I followed up with a third wand, then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth… the seventeenth. Too tired, too dull, too strong, too weak, too much personality, not enough brawn, too intelligent, too mischievous… I reached the point where I was pulling wands out at random, though little seemed to help. Clearly her personality was more ambivalent than I had expected, no wand I tried seemed to quite fit with her character.

As a large pile began to assemble itself around the counter I tried to make conversation with her to speed up the process, searching for any hint of false confidence, or a personality trait that managed to penetrate through her perfectly polished exterior.

"Are you by any chance related to Fleur Delacour, Miss Delacour?"

"Oh please," she giggled, "Call me Eva… Yes, rather distantly I think, and more by marriage than anything else. I've only got the tiniest smidgen of veela blood as it is, and it's dying out through our generations. Fleur is married now you know. Do you know her…?"

"A little. She was at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournamnet."

She disregarded the information I had volunteered: "A pure blood, as one would expect in a family like ours, though he's not really what the family would usually expect. Curse breaker for Gringotts apparently. Head boy in his day and all that jazz. Well, Fleur'll have her way to no end."

She delicately replaced the wand I had given her back inside the box as I shook my head vigorously.

"Tricky customer am I?" she giggled again. "Well at least it could never be said that I'm not original."

I retreated back to the aisles to fetch another wand. When I returned she was resting her chin on her hand, placing her weight in her elbow upon the table, pouting in what I conceded was an attractive fashion, and certainly flirtatious. I smiled politely and extended the next box.

"And so where did you attend school Eva?"

She sighed in a bored fashion and let her eyes roam over the heavily detailed ceiling, decorated with images of famous witches and wizards of the past, each proudly brandished their Ollivander made wands, as she spoke:

"Small private academy in France," she said blandly, "my family was worried I was a trouble maker and sent me away as soon as possible. I got out of there quickly too, in my fifth year. I'm a singer now."

She smiled at the blank look on my face: "You obviously don't listen to the wizarding channel or you would have known who I was when I said my name. After you- know- who fell people have been wanting a bit of entertainment. I branched out into muggle music for a while. But it's so backward, and they insist on using all sorts of electrical means with their… computers or some such nonsense to play with your voice." She laughed, as though she'd never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. "And they have these ridiculous… paparazze that chase you places. Apparently that's interesting for them. Not being able to apparate away, it was always so frustrating."

I held out another wand for her to try and she twirled it in her fingers nonchalantly.

"I suppose you're getting frustrated with me, Draco."

I'd volunteered my name five minutes ago and she'd immediately taken up on first name terms, not that I was surprised. Apparently she wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"No, no. Just… I'm not really sure what to give you. I'm running out of options here."

"Well… what do you need to know?"

"Anything. Everything. I've given you over thirty wands based on your personality but I can't find any that fit."

"So that's how you allocate wands, personality?"

"Yes, but the wand chooses the wizard. And, pardon me, but none of them want to choose you."

"Witch," she corrected breezily, "well perhaps you're just looking in the wrong place."

"Probably, but wand makers are supposed to be supreme judges of character. I've never been wrong before is all."

She shrugged, "First time for everything."

"Hmph," I put my hands on my hips and glared angrily at the pile.

"Look maybe I can suggest something. If you take a break, relax for a little while and come back you'll have a fresh perspective on things."

"Yeah," I replied, grudgingly.

"In the meantime," she added, ignoring my childish insolence, "you can get to know me better. Say, over a bottle of Butterbeer."

"I'd have taken you for more a cocktail sort of girl." I said, sulkily.

"Then you're merely proving my point, come on," she smiled, "I know the perfect place. Just round the corner, you'll be back in no time."

I took one look behind me at the ever increasing stack of wands. I suppose I've never thought of that moment as a turning point until now. Certainly at the time my mind was much occupied with something else, and Eva's persistent manner had been getting on my nerves. But I was being ridiculous, I knew, and Eva was the first person back in the wizarding world besides Ollivander that had had anything decent to say to me, and I was aware of how stupid that would be to give up. So I took her arm as she led me out of the store, and let her take my hand as we wandered casually down the street. Yet I was surprising even myself by not reverting back to my old habits- my mind was most definitely somewhere else. Harry had evaded my thoughts since I'd returned to London. And my arrival had been a shock back into reality. But having ventured out into the street for the first time in months I found myself scanning the crowd, just as I had on that day at platform nine and three quarters, looking for a familiar flash of red hair, the sight of Hermione, hunched over as she struggled to carry her books in her arms, or those vivid, piercing green eyes, searching the crowd too, for my own.

OOOOOOOOooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooOOOOOOOO

**AN: **_Partly through writing the next chapter now. Would love some reviews especially to let me know what you think of the length. Personally I feel like extra length gives the chapter a bit more rhythm, but it is very important what my reviewers think. Thanks, as ever, for taking the time to read. I hope you likey._


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